The Power and the Glory

Book 3 Chapter XXI: Out of the Frying Pan

Author's Note: Spot the Kingdom (2019) reference!

Warning: contains zombie-related gore.

I climbed to where the sky fades
Till I'm a castaway
Till I asphyxiate
I caught your eyes, bird of prey
And I can't cauterise
The open wound you made
-- Starset, Stratosphere

Tananerl was less a principality and more a loose association of kingdoms and tribes who were forced to work together with gritted teeth. As such its capital was constantly disputed. Five thousand years ago Ilaran came up with the idea of having two capitals, a temporary summer one and a permanent winter one. The summer one was a different city each year and moved around all the kingdoms in turn. The winter one was Magdrőd-Keszgy, capital of Ahalál. Ilaran might only be Prince of Tananerl, but he was also still King of Ahalál.

Siarvin was from a different kingdom. Zhlokaw, if Ilaran remembered correctly. Would he be happy to stay in Ahalál? Would he prefer to go home? If he went home what would he find? So much had changed over the millennia. Ilaran had found it hard enough to adjust when he returned to Ahalál after he and his mother left, and he had only been gone a few centuries. And what about Shizuki? Would he stay in Tananerl with Siarvin or go to Seroyawa with Koyuki?

Those thoughts and similar ones occupied his mind all the way to the capital. He had sent word ahead to Kivoduin and no one else. She would pass the news on to the staff while keeping it from his council. Years ago he'd learnt the best way to make sure none of the politicians and rival rulers got any ideas was to never let them know his plans. People were less inclined to make plots in his absence when they didn't know when he'd be back.

The ordinary people of Tananerl had seen Ilaran only during official events or on important days. Then he was in full ceremonial regalia. None of them had any idea what he looked like in ordinary clothes. Before the train arrived he changed out of his distinctly Saoridhin clothes and into much more normal Tananerlish ones. Of all the dozens of people at the railway station, not a single one spared him a second glance when he stepped off the train. It was mildly amusing to see.

Ilaran sent his luggage ahead and made his way to Viniok Palace slowly. He took the long way around to see what had changed in the city. Not much, and thankfully none of it was for the worse.

There were new shops on the main street and a collection of new trees planted along Koziatyn Street. The police station had finally been repainted. And not before time; it had been an eyesore for years. Old Zhengia, the city's most famous baker, had another colossal cake on display in her front window. It was shaped like a dragon and looked like it would destroy the window and possibly part of the building if it overbalanced. Someone had finally convinced The Happy Shoemaker to replace their battered and barely legible old sign with a new one. Not to be outdone, the Guardsman Tavern across the road had replaced their sign with an enormous banner hung from the roof. The bookshop on Balazna Street had a notice in their window proudly declaring they were the only shop in the city that had the complete works of a popular author.

At last Ilaran reached the palace. The guards recognised him at once and bowed. So did the servants he passed on the way in. Kivoduin was waiting in his study. Her mildly annoyed expression warned him something was wrong.

Over the many years of their acquaintance Ilaran's and Kivoduin's relationship had become impossible to explain. She was his second-in-command, but also his friend, just about the only person he trusted absolutely, and -- very occasionally, when they were both more lonely or under more stress than usual -- his lover. She handled his duties when he was away. There was usually very little she couldn't deal with on her own. What could be wrong that she hadn't already dealt with?